


Sweater Weather

by hmkwhyher



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, rated for language because kags absolutely cannot control that potty mouth of his
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 03:25:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2051808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hmkwhyher/pseuds/hmkwhyher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because Hinata really likes stealing his sweatshirts and Kageyama can't tell him no.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweater Weather

There’s a problem going on in Kageyama’s closet. A big problem.

  
It’s called, _Hinata has taken every one of his motherfucking sweatshirts and it’s cold as balls outside_.

  
He sighs, rakes a hand through his hair, rifles through his hangers again. As he was expecting, none of his warmer articles of clothing have manifested just by the power of sheer will and Hinata-inspired anger; in fact, it’s only made the situation that much more dire. The only thing in his closet that is remotely warm enough to handle the banks of snow outside is a shrunken, dark green cable knit sweater that his grandmother had gotten for him when he had started his first year of middle school, and if somebody suggested Kageyama wearing that he would take the guy's head and bash it in with a metal bat.

  
He is, as Tanaka would say, simply and utterly screwed.

  
“Toby!” His cousin Cho, younger than him by four years, sticks her head into his room, her long, dark hair spilling in a glossy curtain over her eyes. She impatiently brushes it back – the plastic bangles that are so popular with younger kids are stacked up her wrist, he notices absently – and gestures for him to hurry, bracelets clanking. “We’re leaving soon. Aunt Kaori told me to tell you to come downstairs.”

  
Kageyama drops the sweater’s sleeve and glances over at her, barely concealing his minor panic over his own clothing crisis. Never did he think he would see the day where he, Kageyama Tobio, was panicking over what to wear. But, apparently, someone up wherever the afterlife is had cursed him to be a fashion disaster, and panicking he is. “Got it, thanks, Cho. Be right down. I just have to make a quick call.”

  
“Okay. Hurry!” Cho admonishes, and she disappears. The second her head leaves his doorway, her footsteps already receding back down the stairs to the main level, Kageyama has his phone in his hand, dialing.  
Hinata, that (admittedly adorable) bastard, picks up on the first ring. “Hi! Kageyama?”

  
“You dumbass. Where are all my clothes?” Kageyama demands, staring at his t shirt in the mirror in self-pity.

  
“I don’t know.” Hinata sounds a little too innocent. “Where’s your volleyball jacket?”

  
“In the wash.” He says impatiently.

  
“Well, I do have your grey sweatshirt, I won’t lie.” Hinata says graciously. “I’m wearing it right now, so…”

  
“Dumbass.” Kageyama says again, because there isn’t really anything to say; calling Hinata isn’t magically going to bring back his wardrobe, but at least he’s confirmed where his clothes are and that they haven’t been snatched by a fucking _clothes monster_ or something.

  
He forces himself not to make any threats and instead entertains himself by the idea of Hinata, sleepy-eyed and half-smiling in his lap, snuggled into the folds of one of Kageyama’s sweatshirts – he’s seen Hinata try to pull off wearing his clothes before, and the idiot positively _drowns_ in them, he’s so short. Like a little kid playing dress up.

  
When Kageyama was little and his favorite pastime was planning out his life, being completely turned on by a short, red-haired boy with a lack of understanding for anything more complicated than fifth-grade math was not one of the things he’d considered a future possibility. The static crackles over the phone, drawing his thoughts away from his six-year-old self back to the present.

  
“Sorry.” Hinata sounds genuine, at least, and Kageyama relaxes, almost but not quite half-smiling.

  
“It’s fine. I just have this dinner thing, and – call me later, okay?”

  
“Okay.” Hinata says, and there’s the sound of a kiss being blown through the receiver and before Kageyama can splutter in surprise, there’s the click of Hinata ending the call and his phone goes quiet.

  
He swears into the emptiness of his room, turning back to his desolate closet. He’d gotten so distracted that he’d forgotten to angrily demand of his kind-of boyfriend what he was supposed to do in the middle of winter with only a thin t shirt, and does Hinata realize that _Kageyama’s mother will skin him alive if he attempts to leave the house without a sweater_.

  
“Tobio!” His mother’s impatient voice floats up the stairs. “Come on!”

  
Next time he sees Hinata, he’s going to fucking kill him.

 

_______________________________

 

“What are you _wearing_?” Cho hisses as he climbs into the car beside her, his mother keying the ignition to life in front of them.

  
“Shut up.” Kageyama mumbles back, and he self-consciously tugs at his green knit sweater; the garment hasn’t been worn since middle school and smells musty and unused, and it’s ridiculously tight.

  
He tried everything to stretch it out before putting it on; pulling at it, stuffing a pillow under the shirt while wearing it to stretch the yarn, tried picking apart the seams; but the garment is steadfast and refuses to expand. This leaves him stuck, half choking by the constricting neckline, the sleeves barely stretching past his elbows and the hem just pulling past his navel.

  
That kind-of almost solves the problem of size, but then there’s the smell of must and unworn cloth. He’s tried to disguise the scent with cologne, which has resulted in little wet flecks across the front of his shirt when he’d tried to squirt at his neck and the squirty part had been facing the wrong way, resulting in a masculine-smelling stain across his chest. He huddles into the seat, self-conscious.

  
His phone lights up in his pocket, and he fishes it out, scowling. It’s a picture message, and when he opens it his screen is filled with a shot of Hinata, grinning his wide, heart-melting smile and holding up a peace sign, sitting next to a small mountain of long-sleeved garments – all of which Kageyama recognizes as his own.

  
The bastard.

  
Hinata sends him another text seconds later; **ilysm srry bout the sweatshirts ill give them back @ prac 2mrrw. call u 2nite xo**

  
Kageyama gives a genuine smile, and for a second it’s okay that he’s wearing a shrunken sweater with cologne stains on the front, and that somehow it’s escaped his notice that Hinata has stolen half his closet from under his nose.

  
And then he remembers that they don't have practice tomorrow - Daichi is adamant about resting on weekends and regaining strength - and since Hinata and his family are out of town, there's no possible way to get his clothes back until Monday.  
And so he shuts his phone off, because if he doesn’t do something with his hands quick he’s going to go to Hinata’s house, take this damn sweater off, and strangle him with it.

  
“We’re here.” His mother announces, the car purring to a stop in front of the restaurant. Tobio’s thoughts claw themselves away from his killing-his-boyfriend fantasy, and his fingers claw the ridiculously tight sweater neck away from his throat because it’s like he has a fucking _boa constrictor_ around his throat and he can’t breathe right anymore. His mother is oblivious to his inner turmoil, instead casting him a half-worried, half-sympathetic look. “And Tobio, honey, do you want to wear my coat going in? That sweater looks ridiculous.”

**Author's Note:**

> what am I even doing with my life im so sorry


End file.
